


Immaculate Misconception

by moon_opals



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Humor, Inappropriate Humor, The prompt is inappropriate but not explicit, These two are going to be the death of this pirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-08 08:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: Scrooge and Goldie discuss kids. On a pirate ship. Surrounded by pirates. It goes as well as one would expect. What Della has learned about gods and gifts? Always inquire about the terms of use & terms and conditions.A story of family, love, and the importance of reliable birth control.





	1. The Name Game

“I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Scrooge jerked his head. Beaded sweat rolled rounds on his face; starting at the crown, ending at the top of his beak. “What do ye’ mean pregnant? We jes’ finished.”

“I mean.” She scowled. It was difficult to wiggle in a confined space. “This time is different. It  _ feels _ different,” she clarified in a sharp hiss. Heavy boots cracked harshly on the boards.

“Find them!” Foghorn screeched, “Damn it, I want one or the other or both –  _ alive _ .” The singular word was spat as if it were venom.

“Ae donnae think that’s scientific.” Scrooge drawled. Shimmying free with a sigh, he ignored the sharp pang of loss at being in the open. “And if ye’ are, which Ae doubt, do ye’ want it?”

“Children are messy.” She reached for her pants sitting at her ankles. A painful measure it was when cramped below deck where a pirate crew had directed all of their angered frustrations on you above. “And they’re loud. And they’re nitpicky. And they’re greedy.”

Scrooge shot her a look.

“You know what I mean.” She pinched the skin between her eyes, “Children are difficult, Scroogey, and you know how I feel about domestic.”

“Of course.”

“And we’d have to set up shop.”

“Naturally.”

“And think of the costs. Truly, calculate them down to the penny.”

“Trust me, Ae ‘ave.” A wry grin teased her thoughtlessness, “Ae’m Scrooge McDuck. Ae consider all possibilities, no matter the impossibility.”

“Impossibility?” She smirked, cocking her head for added mockery. “Children are not impossible.” She rolled on her side, giving him room behind her. Ahead was a sliver of light revealing multiple pairs of boots running across deck; they planned accordingly.

“How ‘boot we hold this discussion for later?” Scrooge whispered. “But if we’re on the topic of wee bairns,” he added with a hint of humor in his voice, “Ae’d like Prudence for a girl.”

Goldie choked on a laugh. “Prudence?” He imagined disgust had graced her unruly features. “No daughter of mine is going to be named  _ Prudence _ . She’s no old maid.”

“Oh? And ye’ve thought extensively on it?”

“Ha! You wish.” She scoffed. “If I were to have a son, he’d be named Sterling. A good, strapping, dashing name, and fortunately, he’ll inherit my looks.”

“And Prudence will inherit my smarts.” Scrooge bit back harshly. “It’s a good, lovely, and inspirational name. Prudent. Wise. Strong. Immeasurable.”

“Oh will you stop? Sterling is a handsome name for a handsome boy. You’d want to scuttle Prudence off in your old, dusty manor.”

“And ye’d spoil Sterling rotten, ye -,”

_ “Ahem.” _

The floorboards were ripped off with two meaty, hairy, ring dressed hands. Their conversation cut short, they glanced up. Foghorn glared down.  

“Found ye.” His marble eye reflected his poorly timed triumph, “Tie ‘em both up, separately, but knowin’ these two, they probably like it.”

“Wait,” Scrooge said. “Before ye’ send us to our dooms, can Ae ask ye’ a single question.”

Foghorn glared. “Just the one, and then, yer walkin’ de plank!”

“Fair.” Scrooge nodded briskly. “Answer me this.” He hid a smirk behind his straight beak, “Would ye’ name yer daughter Prudence?”

“Are you serious?” Fury bled red in her forest green blaze.

Foghorn chuckled, “Named me girl Constance! A hearty name for a hearty lass.”

Scrooge smirked. “Thank ye, that’s all Ae needed ta’ know.”

“So, can we – you know, get along with this?”

“Oh, of course, of course. Tie us up, boys.”

Goldie spat fire. “You’re an asshole.”

“Prudence it is.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Please, keep these two apart.” Foghorn warned.


	2. Season's Blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world never knew a love like Della and Selene, and neither did Della. This may explain why she didn’t ask any questions when her love bestowed upon her a special gift.
> 
> Rule #1 of Mortal Dating a Divine Entity: Always read and or ask of the terms and conditions when receiving a gift.

“I bestow upon you, a gift.”

“Selene.” Della replied grumpily. “I’m more than happy to go on an adventure, or solve a mystery, or defeat a monstrous gorgon or cyclops, but I am sleepy. Give me five more hours.”

Selene grinned sweetly, patting the lump underneath her silk blankets. “You mortals and your insistence on sleeping. Now wonder you worshiped me for so long.”

“Yes. I worshiped you. All night long.” Della’s snap lacked the heat it was known for. She rustled deeper into her feather plucked pillows. “And now, I worship Helios in a different manner, by sleeping,” she threw the cover off her head. Her hair was tugged, pulled into afterglow disarray. Puffy, dark circles sagged underneath her eyes.

“And that,” Selene booped her beak, “is why I want to give you a gift.”

“Selene, if it isn’t an additional three hours of sleep, can it wait?”

“Nope!” She bounded off the bed, giddiness clinging to her tailfeathers. Laying her hand on the wall, Della watched with minimal interest as a secret compartment appeared. Inside was an ancient amphora, depicting a young woman raising her bow and arrow, ready to shoot. What she aimed for? Della couldn’t see.

“Please, tell me it’s wine.”

“It isn’t wine.” She thought, “You may call it a wine. Or something like it. Hera used it once, and it’s rumored Hades experimented with it.” She set it on the stand in the middle of the bed; whatever liquid swished inside didn’t dare touch the upper rim.

Curiosity tugged irritably on her eyelids. With a resigned groan, Della pushed up on the bed, keeping the blanket close. “Okay, I give. What sort of god gift are you ready to bless me with?”

“It isn’t overly complicated.” Compared to the multiple amphoras housed in the bin and her personal office, Selene’s was miniature, but there was a weight to it unlike the ones she’d known. “This is a special amphora. An old friend of mine left it to me before he was sentenced to...doom...for giving mankind fire.”

“You mean Prometheus?” Della glanced at the jar, “Is that Pandora’s box?”

“Box?” Selene asked. She waved her off, laughing gently, “It was actually a jar. A pithos exactly.” Glancing at the jar, “This isn’t a pithos, but it’s something Prometheus gave me. Artemis later blessed it.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Going to bless you of course!”

“I’m not against it entirely,” Della said. Dropping her modest blanket, she scooted to her side, “What’s the blessing like? You know gift giving gods style is always a double edged sword.”

Confusion briefly visited Selene’s expression. “Oh!” Laughter bubbled out her beak. She pulled her head back in great humor, “It isn’t like that. At all.” She straightened, “This gift will not cause death, destruction, and or any sort of collateral damage or calamity into your life, friends, family, and etc. Think of it as a way of adding to your family!” She gasped, eyes wide, “A whole new adventure.”

“Adding to my family? An adventure?” Della scoffed. Lowering her head, she was eye to eye with the amphora, “Is that Artemis?”

“Yep.” Selene rolled her eyes. “Also,” she cupped her hand around her beak, “she was amazingly efficient in crafting this thing. You do know she’s the goddess of ch-,”

“Hunting, wilderness, and wild animals.”

“Right!” Selene grinned, “But she’s also associated with ch-,”

“With protecting the female child up to marriage?” Della’s smug chuckle ended with a nostalgic sigh, “Apollon is the protector of sons. I think it’s pretty sweet, but a double edged sword, you know? They’re bringers of sudden death and disease.”

“Now, you’re just showing off.”

Della shrugged.

“Since you know your Greek gods.” She patted the amphora, “Just take a sip, and you’ll be blessed.” Her smile dropped flatly when Della snatched the amphora with all her strength.

Three large gulps bobbed in Della’s throat, swishing away down to the bottom of her stomach. “Just a sip?” She paused, staring blankly, chuckling abashedly, and relieved she didn’t lose balance, “Is chugging okay?”

Selene raised her hand. “Nah, it’s cool.” Laughing her surprise off, she explained, “My sustenance was mixed in, so the work should’ve already taken effect.”

“Wait, what?” Clear, bluish white juice dribbled off her beak.

“Give Helios’ three to four hours.” Selene grabbed the amphora and returned it to the bed stand right next to the bed. She opened her arms, grinning, “Do you wanna cuddle?”

Della sighed, falling face first into her chest. “Finally.” She moaned back to sleep. “And thanks for the gift, whatever it was,” she murmured sleepily.

Selene smiled, hair covering their bodies in a cool, warm embrace. She soon felt Morpheus spilling his touch onto her eyelids.

“Anything for you Dells.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have no father. None. At all. Also, this is what Greek gods do, right?
> 
> Artemis is also the goddess of childbirth, so maybe Della's laying wasn't as bad as it could've been.


	3. Just a Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst thing about unplanned pregnancies is not the actual labor or birth of the child.
> 
> It's telling older, conservative relatives that you are currently an expecting, unwed mother.
> 
> Della is lucky her uncle is not an older, conservative man of the traditional family unit mindset.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know?”

_“What are you going to do?”_

_“I don’t know!?”_ The thin, plastic device flew against the wall. It fell to the floor with a soundless clink. Della ran her fingers through her hair, pacing in the cramped bathroom, “I mean...oh no,” she laughed uneasily, “I don’t know what I’m going to do. That’s why I called you.”

“Called me?” Donald threw his hands in the air. “What am I going to do? I’ve never been pregnant!”

“I don’t know!” She slapped her forehead. “I panicked. I didn’t know _who_ to call. The most reasonable person after Grandma, who I was not going to call, was you.” She worried her thumb, digging her teeth into fragile skin, “And now you’re here, and now the test has come out positive.” She gasped, covering her mouth, “Donald, what am I going to do?”

Donald blinked. He shook his head a little. _Pregnant._ He’d seen the early response. Two, dark pink lines appeared on the white slab. It was in that moment their stomachs dropped, and their shared terrified stares. _“Oh, phooey.”_ He didn’t know what to do now; now that it was confirmed, now that the unfertilized egg she usually deposited every month was fertilized.

“You’re gonna have to tell Scrooge,” was all he could think to say. He raised his head carefully at her and winced under her bleach paled look.

She shook her head weakly. “No.” An outrageous laugh shuddered on the walls, “I cannot. I can’t. No. Absolutely impossible,” she sat on the toilet seat. Hunched back. Fist pushed under her beak in terrified contemplation.

“What do you want to do?” Donald asked gently, “You want to keep it?”

“I...I...I could.” She rubbed her forehead, “I could keep it. I could...there are options, Donald, but it may be _too_ late. There’s a certain period after where you can’t, and it’s just induced, and I don’t know if I can deal with that, and oh shit, I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant.” She gasped, choking on ferocious sobs clawing a path to the surface.

Donald moved off the tub’s edge and gripped her shoulders. “Della.” He said through gritted teeth, “Della, I need you to listen to me.” Her shallow breaths strangled her. She waved her hands wildly, shaking her head with her eyes closed, and Donald sighed.

“Della.”

“I cannot.”

“I need you to breathe.”

“I’m breathing.”

“Slowly. Calmly.” He rubbed her shoulders, teasing his thumb into the inner circles. “There we go. You’re okay. You’re soft. This is a slight bump.”

“It isn’t the end of the world.”

“It isn’t.”

“I’m gonna have to tell Scrooge.”

“Do you want to keep it?”

Della stared at Donald. She never asked her mom, though she never had the chance to ask her, if she had ever doubted she’d be a mother. Hortense had always seemed sure about her place of life, from what Della’s memories told her. But had Hortense lived (or been around) she would’ve asked her that question. _“Were you afraid?”_ or _“Did you really want this?”_ Her mother wasn’t here. Her mother wasn’t the one answer or asking the question.

She stared at her stomach. Still flat. Still perfectly, painlessly flat. In a few weeks a bulge would take shape; round and smooth. By time she went for her laying, she shivered. She didn’t want to imagine what she’d look like, but yet, for some unfathomable reason, a small glimmer of hope took flame inside.

“I want this,” she said, returning Donald’s stare with fierce determination. “I want to be a mom.”

“Good.” Donald said. He patted her arms, “That’s a good development. You want to be a mom, but we need to figure out how you’re going to go about doing that.”

“We?”

“Yes, we.” He said flatly. A faint blush rose to his cheeks at the thought of children - his sister’s children, and he stood, crossing his arms. “You’re going to have to grow up, Della. We’ll look into OB/GYNs, prenatal vitamins, clothes, diapers. We can visit the public library.” His rambled on; his list growing longer by the second.

Della sat on the toilet seat, blank faced, mouth agape. She barely uttered a word through his extensive list, amazed at how easily he accepted this newfound reality. 

“Donny?” She said.

“And we need to find a highly reviewed pediatrician -,”

_“Donny.”_

“And we’ll need to set up for the baby -,” he stopped abruptly, blinking humorlessly at her. “What?”

Della inhaled sharply. “Grandma or Scrooge?” She crossed her arms, deliberating, “Or you can take Grandma.”

“Grandma? Alone? No.”

“You’re her favorite.” Della pressed helplessly, “She isn’t going to be mad with you.” A tremor passed up her spine, and her feathers ruffled under her grandma’s imaginary stare. “I don’t want to think of what she’ll say.”

Donald stared. “Scrooge first? Together?”

Della propelled into him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, he felt the air fly out of his lungs. “Oh thank, Selene,” she murmured into his neck, tears prickling at his eyes. “And you too,” she laughed. “Thank you, Donald.”

“Be straightforward with him.” Donald advised, “It’ll be over quicker.”

* * *

 

“Uncle Scrooge.” She exhaled tightly, “I may be a little pregnant.”

Donald choked. “What the duck, Della?” But she only appeared slightly abashed, slightly nervous, and all confident under a layer of trepidation.

Scrooge seized. “Wot?” His pen fell on his desk. A look of confusion, bewilderment, denial washed over him, and his brow tilted forward, forming a perfect V for them to quiver under. “Ye’ cannae be a little pregnant,” he scowled. “Either ye are or ye’ not. Trust me, Ae should knae.”

“Yeah, you _should._ ” Donald winced when Della’s elbow jabbed him sharply on his side. He glared at her, meeting hers head on.

Della cleared her throat, taking five tentative steps to his desk. “I may be a bit more than a little pregnant,” she drawled on, “more like I just had my first doctor’s appointment, and am totally, positively, without a doubt will be laying an egg in about 2.5 months.”

Scrooge stared, unspeaking, eyes wide, fingers still curled in a writing position. Della readied for the blow; for that impossibly loud, scathing blow she was certain was coming her way. But then, he surprised her. He slumped back in his chair, grip surprisingly lax. Water teetered in his eyes, though no tears fell, and he huffed lightly. A great puff of air blew from his mouth.

“Bless me bagpipes,” he said. “It’s Hortense all over again.”

Donald started. “Wait, what?” He was ignored once Scrooge stood from his chair, arms wide and enveloping Della in a reassuring hug. He walked to them, finger pointed, “What did you say about Ma’?”

Della froze in his embrace. Strange. Confused. Not at all what she expected. She returned the hug, nonetheless, and let out a tiny, “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He laughed, “Why would Ae be mad?”

“Well. I’m pregnant.”

“Eh. Not the first time.” His grin waved off her befuddled concern, “And certainly won’t be the last, not in this family.”

“What about our adventures,” Donald asked. “You can’t possibly think she’s gonna travel when pregnant.”

“Never stopped Goldie,” Scrooge replied easily. He went to his bookshelf, thumbing through the spines. “Which may explain some things, at least,” he mumbled bitterly before finding the thick, green leather album he searched for. He placed it on the desk, flipping to the middle, and pointed proudly for their benefit.

“Whoa.” Della gazed. “Wow, she was...huge.” She glanced at Scrooge, disbelief scrawled messily in her face. “You’re telling me she got that big? I can’t believe it.” She gasped at the later pages, revealing Goldie’s pregnancy progress. “You got captured by pirates again?”

“Actually, yer cousin hatched on Foghorn’s ship.” Scrooge shrugged, “He cried more than Ae did. Apparently, ruthless, blood thirsty, treasure hungry pirates have soft hearts fer children.”

“Sounds dangerous to me.” Donald peered between them. He flipped the pages back and forth; his frown deepened worriedly. “And she climbed the Himalaya’s in that condition? Wait.” He peered closely, tapping the photograph, “No, she had the egg in a nappy.” Donald glared.

“Wot? Opal was perfectly fine in there.” Scrooge defended, “And like Ae said, she hatched in a warm climate.”

“Surrounded by pirates.”

“Pirates who _adored_ her. Foghorn sobbed when we decided on Prudence for a middle name.”

“You won the bet didn’t you?”

“Ae did say Ae preferred a girl. Opal was our compromise.” Scrooge returned to the album, “But as ye’ can see, impending motherhood didnae stop Goldie.”

Della held the album. “No, it didn’t.” A dreamy sigh aired her bright eyes, twinkling with endless possibilities. “What a world we’ll show them,” she smiled. Donald gulped, a queasy uneasiness started to rumble in his stomach. He knew that smile. That was a smile of promise, of belief in the unknown, of danger untold.

“After they’re hatched.” He interjected swiftly, “Let them grow a bit before we get any bright ideas.”

Della groaned, “Donald.”

“No, no, he’s right.” Scrooge said.  
  
“I am?”

“Indeed.” Scrooge folded his arms behind his back, “There’s much planning to be done for when the children are laid and eventually hatched. Treasure hunting. Child friendly globe trotting. Mount Neverrest, anyone? Goldie never attempted that with Opal, and it’ll kindle her embers if she knew we made it before her.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds fun,” Della said.

Scrooge nodded. “Now, Ae’ll get back to work.” He returned to his chair, clutching his pen, “But Ae must ask,” light reflected on his bifocals, “what of the wee bairn’s father? Is he around. Do Ae need ta’ rough around.”

There was a pause, not that Scrooge noticed. Della stared straight ahead, expression not exactly blank but ruminating its next response. Was there trepidation? Or was Donald imagining it? Whatever it was, it lied flatly behind a screen of cheerful indifference. “Oh. Right. Their father.”

She shrugged, “They don’t have a father. We won’t worry about a father coming around.”

“Ae, that’s relieving. Ae donnae like ta’ share anyways,” he mused over his paperwork. Already finished with the conversation, more focused on his annual reports his executive board demanded him to complete, Scrooge nodded them off. His celebratory smile curved downward into its typical scowl, and they darted off, eagerly, relived.

“Thanks, Uncle Scrooge,” Della sighed beyond the door. Donald’s glare chased her. Like a red dot on its target resting on her back’s center, he marched beside her, hands clenched. This didn’t make any sense. None at all. He wasn’t going to bring it up. He wasn’t going to fall into her trap.

She winked at him. _You can ask you know._ Donald sighed, defeated. Arms crossed, he huffed, “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“That?”

“Oh?” She said, “You mean with Scrooge? Oh yeah, they don’t have a father.”

“Della, do you know _who_ the father is?” Not the question he was aiming for. His beak wrinkled in revulsion, and she chuckled at his puzzlement. This was what Della did. She eased along, giving you permission to confuse and embarrass yourself.

“Oh, I’m sure I know who it is, and don’t worry, _he_ won’t be coming around any time soon.” She punched him softly on the arm. She smiled reassuringly at him; the same smile she reserved to ease his clanging nerves. This was the smile he depended on, and though his scowl fought it, he fell victim to it. Her false assurances had that quality.

“So?”

“So, what?” She patted his arm. Nervous laughter rang in their ears, “Get ready for parenthood, Dad.”

“Not likely.” They knew it was a lie, even as he reiterated the words in his mind, his heart told another story.

Della snorted. “Sure, Uncle Donald. Are we going baby clothes shopping tomorrow?”

“We still have to tell Grandma.”

“Oh," she said, flatly. "Telling Grandma."

“And I called her. She knows we’re coming.”

“You didn’t.”

Donald smirked, “I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Donald knows more than what people give him credit for. Last chapter for now. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> If there's one thing DuckTales has helped me improve, it's humor and dialogue. You tell me Scrooge and Goldie wouldn't argue baby names? I tell you, "Ha!" They compromise.


End file.
